It’s Nick.
When I didn’t respond, because I was too busy staring at my phone dumbly, it vibrated again.
I conned Roxy into giving me your phone number.
My eyes widened.
Another text came through almost immediately. Mainly bc I figured at some point you’d ask for mine. I saved you the trouble. ;)
Oh my word, the arrogance knew no limit. I hadn’t been planning to ask for his number. Okay, it might’ve crossed my mind, but I had decided it was best to let that sleeping dog lie. Yes. I was obviously attracted to Nick, as he was to me, but I wasn’t sure I could be just friends with him while lusting after him, and I wasn’t sure I could trust him not to have the same reaction he had last time after we got together.
A fourth text followed. Please don’t be mad at Roxy. She likes you. But she also likes me.
My brows rose. Irritation sparked, but it was minimal. I’d met Roxy and Katie again this past Sunday for breakfast. We hadn’t talked about Nick this time, but part of me wasn’t surprised that she’d given him my number.
I hope you’re not mad.
Snapping out of it, I picked up the phone and sent back: I’m not. And that was the truth. It wasn’t like I gave Roxy the impression I would flip my shit if she gave him my number. Though she probably could’ve asked first, but that was water under the bridge at this point.
Good, he sent back. A moment passed and another text came through. Did you save my number?
The corners of my lips curved up. I texted back: No.
That earned me a frownie face followed by: You break my heart, Stephanie. I saved your number.
Doubtful, was my response. But I quickly saved his number as I glanced up, hearing someone laughing from a few cubicles over.
A couple of moments passed and Nick texted back. You totally saved my number, didn’t you?
I swallowed a laugh and shook my head. Yeah, I did.
Knew it. The three little dots appearing under the text bubbled, and I waited. So I was texting you with a purpose.
Pressing my lips together, I sent back a quick reply. You were?
Ha. There was a pause, and then, Reece is having a get-together at his place tonight. A small one. Roxy is working, but I thought you might like to come?
My stomach tumbled instead of churned, and I wasn’t sure if I liked that sensation or not. Hesitation filled me, something I wasn’t at all accustomed to. I normally knew what I wanted to do, but for the first time in a very long time, I was unsure.
Chewing on my lower lip, I glanced up and looked around the office. Not like the answer to what I should do awaited me in the light fixtures. I flipped my gaze back to the phone and started to text back.
I haven’t been feeling well. That was the truth. But if I’m feeling okay tonight . . . What in the hell was I doing? I didn’t know, but I was doing it, doing it real hard. . . . I could stop by. What time does it start?
The three little dots appeared. Around 8pm. You okay?
Yeah, just stomach kind of messed up. Probably something he didn’t need to know. I’ll text you later and let you know.
Ok. I hope you feel better.
Thanks.
There were no more texts after that, and as the seconds turned into minutes, and minutes into hours, I still had absolutely no clue what I was doing.
And I wasn’t sure if I loathed that feeling.
Or if I sort of liked it.
I got home a little after six-thirty and changed into a pair of jeans and a loose sweater that was made out of a soft chenille material. I loved this sweater so much I wanted to snuggle with it, but that would be weird.
Barefoot, I padded into the kitchen and opened the pantry doors. I stood there for several minutes, picking at a packet of tuna fish and then moving onto the boxes of rice. Neither of those things interested me, so I moseyed on to the fridge. Microwavable bacon was somewhat appealing, but the sliced honey ham and Swiss cheese would be more filling. I didn’t want those either. Closing the door, I opened the freezer. There was a packet of hamburger meat and a steak, but both were frozen solid, and I hated defrosting meat in the microwave, so that didn’t do me any good. Sighing, I closed that door, too. I was hungry but not. My stomach seemed to be feeling better but my appetite was most definitely weird.
Opening the drawer near the stove, I started scanning the take-out menus I’d already started to accumulate since moving here. Chinese. Pizza. Italian. Subs. All of it looked good, but nothing sparked my interest as it should.
I glanced at the clock as I held a Chinese menu and felt my tummy tighten in a mixture of excitement and confusion, which was an odd combination. Whoever was going to Reece’s thing tonight would be arriving in the next hour or so. Nick would be arriving.
Nick.
Dammit.
I still had no idea if I was going to stop by Reece’s or how I really even felt about Nick getting my phone number, contacting me, and then inviting me to his friend’s place.
If he was looking for something casual between us, the invite wasn’t strange. That was actually pretty common, but I had a hard time believing he sincerely thought that would happen between us so soon after what went down at the bar.
Turning my gaze to the menu, I let out a deep sigh and then dropped it back on the counter. There was a packet of Reese’s Halloween pumpkins. Would that count as dinner if I just ate all nine of them?
Sounded legit to me.
Picking up a thick bobby pin, I twisted my hair into a loose knot and shoved the pin in. I was just about to pick up the menus again when there was a knock at my door. My heart turned over as I closed the drawer. With my pulse picking up, I walked to the door and took a quick peek through the peephole even though I had an idea who it could be.
I was right.
Nick stood in the hallway outside my apartment. Curious, I unlocked the door and opened it. He turned toward me, and there was this squeezing type pressure in my chest. Not unpleasant, but . . . but wholly unfamiliar to me.
His hair was damp, the dark strands curling along his forehead. Drops of rain dotted his powerful shoulders. When had it started raining? God, I’d really had a single-minded focus on those menus, with nothing to show for it.
“Hi,” I said, my gaze dropping to the plastic bag he held.
“Hey,” he drawled, and my stare was dragged back up. He looked good, but I figured he always looked good, from the moment he woke up to when he rested that head of his on a pillow. “I brought you something.”
Blinking, I stepped back. “You did?”
“Yeah. Can I come in?”
I nodded and watched him walk in and close the door. He took the bag to the small bistro table I had set up in the dining area. I was at a loss for words when he started speaking.
“When I was younger and not feeling well, my mom used to make me homemade chicken noodle soup.” Nick pulled out a plastic container and faced me. “It’s a lot better than the canned stuff. She used to drop in some herbs that are good for settling the stomach and actually give the soup a good taste so it’s not so bland.” He headed for the kitchen. “Your bowls here?”
“Above the left counter.” I was frozen.
He pulled out a ceramic bowl, put it on the counter and peeled back the plastic container lid. Carefully, he dumped the noodles, chunks of chicken, and broth into the bowl. “It’s still a little warm but it needs to be heated up a bit. Microwave okay?”
My lips slowly parted. It was obvious it was not canned soup. “Yes. Microwave is fine.” I inched closer to the kitchen. “Did your . . . did your mom make that.”
“No.” Nick placed the bowl in the microwave. Little beeps echoed through the silence. He placed his hands on the counter before the microwave, his back to me. “My mom died thirteen years ago.”
“Oh.” I placed my hand on my chest. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
He nodded, but the line of his spine was tense, his shoulders hunched. I opened my mouth because losing a parent was something I could relate to, but beyond what I’d already said, I couldn’t find the words. It wasn’t something I talked about often. The microwave dinged and he removed the bowl. The aroma was wonderful, making my stomach grumble happily. Finding a spoon, he brought the soup back to the table. His lashes lifted, moss green eyes meeting mine.
I drew in shaky breath. “Did you make the soup?”
Nick nodded once more.
“Oh. I . . .” I couldn’t believe he had brought me soup, let alone taken the time to make it himself. All of this was so incredibly sweet and extremely unexpected; I couldn’t speak. I just stood there, staring at him like an idiot.
The hollows under his high cheekbones turned pink. “It’s not that hard.”
“I don’t know how to make chicken soup from scratch.”
A small smiled pulled at his striking features. “Maybe I’ll teach you one day.”
“You really made me soup?”
The smile spread as he ducked his chin. “Yeah, I did. You going to sit and eat it? I promise it will make your stomach feel better.”
In a daze, I shuffled over to the table. My stomach was twisting again, but it had nothing to do with the nausea I’d felt earlier in the day. I sat at the table, and honest to God, I was moved to the point where I wasn’t even thinking of his douchey behavior in the bar.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice strangely hoarse. “I mean it. Thank you.”
“It’s no biggie.” He handed over a spoon. “Eat up.”
My fingers brushed his as I took the spoon. The shiver that raced up my arm was hard to ignore as I scooped up some noodles, steaming broth, and a chunk of chicken. My taste buds practically orgasmed. “It’s delicious.” I glanced up, my eyes wide. “I can taste something kind of minty.”
Nick folded his arms. “You look so surprised. I’m actually a damn good cook.”
“I am not doubting that now.” I swallowed another mouthful, biting back a moan.
His lashes lowered, shielding his eyes. “I thought I could bring it by before I headed up to Reece’s. I’m a little early, but he’ll be okay—”
“You don’t have to leave,” I said in a rush, and then felt the tips of my ears burning. “I mean, if you want to hang out here for a little bit, you can.”
Nick’s eyes met mine and then lowered as he slid onto the seat across from me. He rested his arms on the table. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. The nausea settled this afternoon, but this soup is really helping.” I was eating like I hadn’t been fed in days. “You didn’t bring some for yourself?”
“What’s left in the container is yours. I ate earlier.” He leaned back in the small dining chair, exhaling softly. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
I paused long enough to smile and then I finished off the bowl. Standing, I carried it to the sink, washed the bowl out, and then placed it in the dishwasher. Turning around, my breath caught in my throat.
Nick had gotten up and followed me, moving so quietly that I hadn’t heard him. He was only a foot away, and if I moved a little to my right, we’d be in the same positions we’d been in that night.
My stomach hollowed in response. I so needed to stop thinking about that, but once I did, my brain latched on. My chest rose sharply. I could practically feel his hands on my sides, my hips . . . between my legs. God, was it hot in here? I tugged on the neckline of my sweater. I so needed to get my hormones under control. This was ridiculous.
But when I looked up, our gazes collided and I couldn’t look away. Heat swamped my senses, and my overactive imagination flooded me with memories of how he’d felt pressed against my back, him inside me, stretching me.
Nick tilted his head to the side, his gaze hooded as he changed his stance, spreading his legs. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said, voice gruff.
I blinked. “I’m not looking at you.”
His lips quirked up. “Besides the fact you’re looking right at me, you’re looking at me in that way.”
Some of the heat had faded, but not nearly enough to make me stop thinking about what we’d done in this kitchen. “In what way am I looking at you?”
“Like you want a repeat of that night.”
Damn. He freaking nailed it right on the head. I didn’t say anything as I crossed my arms under my chest, but I stiffened as he took a step forward. A half foot separated us.
“And you really need to stop,” he said again, his voice low as he lifted his hand, catching the strand of my hair that had fallen loose and tucking it back behind my ear. His knuckles brushed over my cheek. “Because I’m trying to be cool over here.” He lowered his hand. “I’m trying something different.”
“What are you trying?” I asked.
Those amazing lashes lifted once more and his stare pierced me. “I’m trying to be friends with you.”